Stuart MacBride - 45% Hangover

He pulled on a lopsided smile. ‘Thanks.’ Then a sigh. ‘Didn’t help though, did it?’

She gave his shoulder a shoogle. ‘Cheer up. Always next time. None of this once-in-a-generation bollocks, we’ve got what...’ She turned and blinked at the TV for a bit. ‘Laz?’

‘Forty-five percent.’

‘See? Forty-five percent. All we need’s for one person in twenty to change their minds, and it’s fifty-fifty!’

The smile grew a bit. ‘Supoose.’

‘Damn right.’ She held up her glass. ‘Slàinte mhath.’

Hadden clinked his drink against hers and they drank.

Logan took the glass off him. ‘So you’re saying you had nothing to do with Chris Browning going missing?’

‘God, no. No, all I did was slip a couple of quid to Elaine and Jane. Told them to phone the Examiner and say Browning liked it rough and kinky. Honest. Ask them. And that wasn’t till after he went missing.’

Logan just stared at him.

‘ Honest . I mean I know it was childish and that, but I wanted... It didn’t seem fair they were always trying to scare people and... it... the “Yes” campaign needed... I...’ Pink spread across his cheeks. ‘Sorry.’

‘You do know defamation is against the law, Mr Hadden?’

‘Meh, it’s civil, no’ criminal.’ Steel pushed Logan’s free, untouched, thank-you-for-participating whisky across the table to Hadden. ‘Our wee friend here wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, was he? Just wobble the balance our way a bit.’

‘Please. I’m really, really sorry.’

‘There you go: he’s sorry.’ She knocked back her Famous Grouse. ‘Didn’t even work in the end.’

Their shoulders dipped.

Up on the TV screen, they called the Fife results. “No”: 55.05 %, “Yes”: 44.95 %.

Only one more local authority to declare and that was it.

Hadden gulped down the free whisky. Huffed out a breath. ‘Look, can I... I don’t know... buy you a drink or something? As an apology.’

Steel beamed. ‘Course you can!’

Logan shook his head. ‘Going to need you to come back to the station and make a statement.’

‘Don’t you listen to him, Haddy. You go get your Aunty Roberta a nice double Macallan and we’ll say no more about it.’

‘Thank you.’ Hadden got up and went to the bar.

Logan watched him go. ‘You do know he’ll try to do a runner, don’t you?’

But he didn’t. He bought three whiskies and he brought them back to the table. Shared them out. ‘I’m really, really sorry. I am. It was just... I dunno, stupid.’

Steel helped herself to a double and wheeched it down. ‘Ahh... Nice.’ She pointed at Logan’s. ‘You’re on duty, right?’ Then helped herself to that one as well.

‘Whoops...’ Steel’s legs didn’t seem to be working any more. Probably due to the fact that they’d be knee-deep in whisky on the inside. ‘M’fine...’ Her smile spread and faded and spread and faded, as if it was out of focus. ‘Cldn’t be brrrrr.’

Half six in the morning and the bar crowd had thinned out again. Now, only the hardcore remained — clinging to their drinks in much the same way that Steel was clinging to the table. ‘Whhhsssssssski.’

Hadden nodded towards the bar. ‘Should I...?’

‘No chance.’ Logan stood. ‘Whatever hangover she’s got in the morning will be punishment enough.’

Steel peered up at him. ‘Wanmorrrr.’

‘Don’t care. You’re going home.’

‘Awwwww...’

He dug his hands into her armpits, but it was like trying to pick up a pile of loose socks. Every time he got one bit upright, another bit collapsed.

Hadden hurried round to the other side. ‘Let me give you a hand.’

Between them they wrestled her to her feet. Then caught her before she hit the ground. Turned and frogmarched her out through the front doors and onto Regent Quay.

The first hints of dawn curled pale blue at the corners of the sky, doing nothing to overpower the docks’ spotlights. Half six, and Aberdeen was waking up. The sound of traffic picking up on the dual carriageway.

Hadden shifted his grip on Steel’s other arm. ‘Where to?’

Closest place would be Logan’s flat, but if she was going to puke she could sodding well do it somewhere else. Station, or her house? Hmm...

‘Back to the station.’ She could owe him one. And this way her wife wouldn’t be left wading through a lake of pizza-and-whisky vomit.

‘You got a car?’

‘Nope. Walked.’

High overhead, a seagull screamed.

‘Going to take a while then.’ Hadden frowned. ‘We could take my car? Got vinyl seat covers, in case she... You know.’

And Steel ‘you know’-ing was very likely indeed. Plus, the sooner he could make her someone else’s problem the better. ‘Yeah, that’d be good, thanks.’

Hadden led the way with the left-hand side of Steel, while Logan followed with the right. She just dangled in the middle, making burbling noises.

‘I’m really sorry about Chris Browning—’

‘It’s OK. Enough. I get it.’ Logan puffed out a breath. ‘You screwed up.’

‘I know, but—’

‘She was right, it’s a civil law matter, not criminal. If Chris Browning wants to sue you for defamation when he turns up, that’s his business. Hold your hand up and settle out of court. It’ll cost you a lot less than paying for his lawyers and yours.’

A little smile. ‘Thanks.’

They half-walked-half-carried Steel along the road, then left into James Street — another claustrophobic little alleyway that connected Regent Quay to the dual carriageway. Alec Hadden’s rusty Volvo sat at the end, with most of its rear end sticking out over the double yellows.

Logan leaned Steel against the car’s back door. ‘Right, you’d better give me the keys.’ He held his hand out to Hadden. ‘You’ve been drinking.’

‘Yes. Right. Of course.’ He took out the keys, complete with little tartan fob, and passed them over. ‘That’s what I meant.’

‘Good.’ Logan plipped the locks open, and they wrestled her into the backseat.

‘Erm...’ Hadden pointed. ‘Think we should put her in the recovery position or something? Just in case?’

He had a point.

Logan rearranged her arms and legs, till it was as close as he could get given the space. She could barf away to her heart’s content and not choke on the chunks. The footwell was going to end up in a hell of a mess, though. ‘OK, let’s get—’

Something hard battered into the back of his head, sending him sprawling, filling his skull with the sound of burning and the smell of broken glass...

A voice in the distance. ‘Sorry.’

Then another thump and everything went—

Steel slumped back against the pillow and groaned. ‘How could you do it? To me ?’

‘How could I?’ Logan reached over and poked her in the shoulder. ‘What about you?’

‘Don’t you even dare.’ She clacked her lips open and closed a couple of times, then shuddered. ‘Tastes like a badger threw up in my mouth...’

He looked around the room: embossed wallpaper painted a vile shade of pale pink. Polished floorboards with a knotted rug. Dresser in the corner with a mirror above it. Flatpack wardrobe. One window, and a door. And, of course, the bed. All shiny and brass with a barred headboard and footboard, little sceptre things on the corner posts. ‘Where are we?’

She puffed out her cheeks. ‘Susan’s going to kill me when she finds out.’

The view through the window was nothing but blue sky and clouds.

‘What happened to our clothes?’

‘I mean, bad enough cheating on her, but with a man? With you ?’